


Do You Want To Know A Secret

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-28 22:45:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7659817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: you're one of the Beatles managers and reader is in a very secret relationship with George that not even the band knows about, but people always catch the two always being flirty or lovey dovey. Until they accidentally get outed by a big news outlet.</p><p>George/reader. SFW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Yes, Mr. Epstein.”

You smile as Brian slides you the paperwork and walks to the door, and then groan as soon as it clicks shut behind him; being a PA to Mr. Epstein is _amazing_ , you know that, there’s so much room to progress in the music business/management industry from where you are right now… but when he leaves his work to you on a Friday night, you sort of want to melt and die.

Ah well, you must prove yourself, you muse. But you’re pretty sure you have better stuff to do… Your phone rings, and you pick up.

“Hello, this is Ms. (Y/L/N). How may I…”

“ _Yeah, I’m callin’ to speak to the world’s most gorgeous girl…_ ”

You flush, and can’t help but smile as you recognise the voice.

“George…”

“ _‘allo, love._ ” He sounds so warm and… _real_ – you can’t help but wish you were with him. He’s literally two floors above your makeshift office in the hotel, but you just can’t risk being seen together – mostly for your career, but also because, as he assured you, he wishes you to live as normal a life as possible, or as he put it ‘a load of press are gonna start goin’ through yer laundry, an’ I don’t want ‘em seein’ more of yer knickers than I do’.

“I just have some work to do for Mr. Epstein…”

“ _Are yeh comin’ up?_ ”

“Is it safe?” you ask quietly, and there’s a pause. “George, there’s security between you and me, if one of them talks…” He sighs.

“ _Are yeh in the office?_ ” he asks, and you ‘mhm’ in confirmation, and then you hear the dial tone – blinking, you stare at the phone, and then put it back down, before your stomach flips in excitement. Is he on his way?! You run to the door and watch the lifts in the lobby opposite – there’s almost nobody out there now, just a receptionist, so you withdraw just a little and watch as the elevator arrives at your floor.

It _is_ him; your heart flips, but you straighten your back.

“Mr. Harrison? Sorry to bother you so late,” you say imperiously, and George nods at you.

“Ms. (Y/L/N),” he says, and you stand aside, before pulling the door shut behind you. You giggle as you join him stood by the desk, and then warm hands are on your hips and he is staring into your eyes. “God, it feels so official. Callin’ yeh that. You’re almost my boss, love.”

“George,” you sigh, turning, and stroke his fringe out of his eyes. He needs a haircut. You suppose that’ll be somewhere on your desk as well. You think it’s quite adorable on the man the others refer to as the ‘baby Beatle’. “I missed you today.”

“Ah, love,” he smiles, and kisses you softly; it never feels like a rush, with him. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you lean into it, enjoying his warmth against you. “I swear. One day I’ll make yer hon-”

You hear footsteps outside – perhaps your hearing is sharper, but you almost throw him back and grab a handful of papers. The door opens, and Brian stops short, staring between the two of you.

“…well.”

“Ah, Mr. Epstein. Mr. Harrison was just looking for you,” you say smoothly, and George nods emphatically. Brian looks at George, clearly nonplussed, and George gestures.

“I was just wondering if, uh,” he stumbles only for a second, “if there was any way we could get some booze up to the room, like?” You put on your best disapproval face, and Brian rolls his eyes.

“For God’s sake, George, it’s nearly midnight and you’ve got a show tomorrow…” He ushers him out, and you sit back at the desk, remembering George’s lips against yours. _God_ , you love him, you think dreamily, then look down and sigh. This paperwork isn’t going to sort itself.

* * *

The bedside phone rings, and you reach out without even opening your eyes.

“Mmmmmgh (Y/N) speaking what time is it even.”

“(Y/N)? This is your six-thirty-a.m. wake-up call.” You blink, and sit up, groaning. “Mr. Epstein wants to meet you downstairs…”

“Y’,” you grumble, and rub your eyes, before hanging up. “God’s sake, Brian…” You know you have time to wash and get ready – you hate these early mornings though, especially when you wake up in an empty bed. You suppose you should count your blessings…

Downstairs, after you neaten up, you arrive in the dining hall to see most of the seats filled. There’s an empty seat – next to George. Your stomach sinks but your heart flutters, and you walk over, taking the seat, and George nods at you politely.

“Ah, (Y/N),” Brian smiles. “We were just discussing the itinerary for today.” You nod – you made it, last night, you should bloody well know it – and as you reach for the toast, everybody else descending into chatting, you feel a hand on yours under the table.

You don’t betray yourself by looking over at your man – you just squeeze back, enjoying the feeling of his fingers intertwined with yours. You love how he’s like a little hot water bottle all the time; you feel a little warm and fuzzy, and can’t help but smile to yourself-

“Isn’t that right, (Y/N)?”

You blink, and realise Brian’s been talking to you; you blink owlishly, and John, sitting opposite you in a blue shirt looking irritatingly alert, raises a thick eyebrow.

“‘Ey, love,” he grins, and you _feel_ the torpedo launch. Brace for impact… “Is George botherin’ yeh under the table, like?” Paul smacks him – poor sleepy-eyed boy. You forgot sometimes he’s older than George.

“Don’t be a swine when birds are present,” he says hoarsely, and Brian rolls his eyes.

“Boys,” he says warningly, and George drops your hand. “Now, (Y/N), I was simply asking about the press outside…”

As he begins to talk about getting them to the venue, George’s leg shifts to press against yours, and you lose track of everything but that all over again.

* * *

“Are you two okay in the back?”

George gives a thumbs up, and beams at Brian.

“I’m luggage!” he says enthusiastically, and you can’t contain your giggle into your hands at that. “Yeah, Eppy, lad, we’re fine…” Brian rolls his eyes and then smiles at you.

“Ms. (Y/L/N). Are you sure you can travel like this?” he asks, and you sense the joke in his voice. “We could try to upgrade you to first class…” You laugh and politely decline, and as Brian shuts the door, George takes your hands again.

“Where were we last night?” he asks lowly, and you flush. He made you blush like that, sunset red covering your cheeks, the first time you ever kissed; you had been berating him for being out all night, furious that the designated scolding Brian had asked you to give was getting all mixed up in the personal agony you were feeling that he was out with other women, and he had stood up and kissed you to make the incoherent, irate tide cease – that had left you silent and gaping, face as red as a fire hydrant, and as you stare at him, cheeks on fire, you’re not sure you’ve managed to get a full word out since.

“I’m pretty sure,” you manage, huskily, “you were kissing me.”

“Ah, yeah,” he says, sighing deeply and checking out of the window – Brian is currently berating John, who seems to be misbehaving epically in the other car with Ringo standing behind them and rolling his eyes. God bless that man, you think. He puts up with some shit. “That I was.” And then he cradles your face again, and you feel your lips meet, sharing a breath for one intimate moment before he is kissing you properly, and everything is perfect.

He gently pulls away, and you stare into those russet eyes for another moment before his lips curl into a smile, revealing those adorable fangs.

“I-”

_Bang._

“ _Stop cuddlin’!_ ”

You both jump and turn to see Paul, nose snubbed against the window, pulling an absolutely hideous face. He looks up, and you follow his gaze to see Brian storming over – Paul pulls a face that _screams_ ‘ooh-err’ and sprints away towards the other car.

“We’re not cuddlin’!” George calls after him, and Brian opens the door.

“You two are, right now, the only members of the group I don’t want to throw into the Thames,” he replies, wearily, and you look up to see Ringo in the other car’s driving seat, pulling stupid faces. “Please, keep it up.”

* * *

You place your file down and sigh. Right – you’re here, and you have precisely ten hours before the boys are due on television. It sounds like forever, but they have an interview at twelve-fifteen, and you have about twenty other things to help Brian organise…

The phone rings, and you pick it up.

“Hello?”

“ _‘ey_.”

“George, how are you even-” You decide not to press the issue. Hopefully wherever he is, the others can’t hear him… well, hopefully Brian wouldn’t find out. You have stuff to do. “Not now, I have stuff to do,” you scold, and he laughs.

“ _Please, love. Just one more kiss, like…_ ” You close your eyes. Damn, it’s _hard_ staying professional – but one more kiss would be nice. A few uninterrupted minutes with him is better than nothing all day.

“Office is down in the lower basement. Meet me here.”

He hangs up, and you look down at the paper. Quick kiss. Back to work. God, you have a photoshoot next Thursday. That’s transport… are you going to have to arrange accommodation? Christ, this is a pain…

“Hey, (Y/N).”

You turn, and Ringo is beaming at you from the doorway.

“Hey, Mr. Starkey!” you beam brightly, and he bats at you, grinning.

“It’s Ringo to you, love, you know it,” he says modestly, and you can’t help but grin. He’s a lovely guy, he really is. George thinks the world of him, anyhow. “Well, anyway, like, I was just gonna ask…” He pauses, those blue eyes trained on you, and you see a faint blush. “Like… me an’ Johnny and Paulie were just wonderin’…”

“Go on,” you say, a little less brightly. You’re not sure you’re gonna enjoy this.

“…are you an’ George somethin’, like?” he asks, and you roll your eyes. Oh good. “It’s just… like… Paulie said somethin’ before…”

“Listen, Mr. St- Ringo,” you say flatly, and he looks at you with concern in his eyes. Maybe he thinks he’s offended you. “Mr. Harrison and I have a purely professional relationship, much as yourself and I, Mr. Lennon, Mr. McCartney-”

“‘iya, beautiful-”

You close your eyes, and then look up at the door; Ringo turns his head as well, and George looks between the two of you, mouth a straight line of perfect regret.

“-Ringo,” he finishes lamely, and you resist the urge to rest your forehead on the desk, but only just. “Uh… I was expectin’… Brian?”

“…d’yeh often greet Bri with that?” Ringo asks, flatly, and George points at you.

“I… am… gonna… go…” He turns on his heel, and leaves, and you look at Ringo, who just looks thoroughly bemused.

“…is that all?” you ask levelly.

* * *

Your chance comes much later – ironically, when you had nothing planned.

You are taking a moment to eat your lunch in an unused ballet hall – the company who owns the place have shoved several chairs and tables in here to make it a dining hall; you are balancing the plate on your knee and working out travel arrangements to an interview in a week’s time when the chair next to you is pulled out.

“‘Scuse me, Miss, is this seat taken, like?”

You look up into the mirrors that line one side of the hall – you look startled, you notice, but George next to you is looking not at yourselves but at you, and he’s smiling, with the reflection of the enormous windows behind you, and the city and the street outside as people walk by.

“Finally, some time together,” he smiles, and you lean in, letting your head rest against him for a moment. “You finished yer lunch, like? ‘Cause I can leave…”

“Stay. Please,” you say quietly, and he falls silent, pressing a kiss to your head as you listen to the city outside, just – dwelling on the faint pulse you feel as your fingers close around his wrist, the sound of his breathing, the feeling of his fingers, calloused from the guitar, on your skin. You look up, and are awed by his eyes – so calm and deep.

“Like I was sayin’,” he rumbles eventually, clearing his throat, “I’m gonna make yeh honest one day. Promise yeh.” You smile faintly, and reach up, cradling his face.

“That’ll be the day,” you reply softly, and he kisses you again – you can feel his fangs, hard behind his lips, and you lose yourself for a moment. His hair is soft between your fingers, and then he pulls back and exhales.

“Might have t’be soon, like. Not sure I can keep yeh a secret much longer,” he says, reverentially, and you beam at him. “Alright. Reckon I can go the rest of the day now, like. Maybe.”

“I don’t think I can,” you sigh, and he kisses you again.

* * *

You open your eyes, and the knocking on the door resounds throughout your room once more.

What time is it? Yesterday was marginally a success – the TV performance had gone well, but the interview was a little marred by John making an off-colour comment about the – pretty, blonde – interviewer. Ah well. Onward and upward. That was for PR to worry about…

“(Y/N)?”

That… that’s _Paul_. You blink, and pull on your dressing gown, glancing at the clock. It’s 6:32 – you’re not due awake for another half an hour. You open the door, looking at him – he and John are leaning against the doorframe, beaming widely.

“‘Ey, love.” Paul’s smirk only widens as he sees you. “Uh… Eppy wants to see yous.”

“So, like, what’s George like in bed?” John asks, slightly more directly, and Paul shoves his hand over his mouth, rolling his eyes. “‘Ey, hands off me, yeh fairy, I-!” You run back inside and shove on a blouse and some pants. That was… a little close to the bone… what’s happened?

* * *

“You do realise I’m going to have to fire you.”

Brian is fuming, and you stare dolefully at the front page of the morning’s paper. Beside you, George has his arms folded, and his head in his hands. Well, thankfully, John’s faux-pas in the interview has been overlooked. That is because there is an enormous picture of you and George kissing in the ballet hall – it’s almost romantic, with the reflection behind you – and ‘ _Beatle In Love?_ ’ as the caption.

“This is an enormous conflict of interests!” Brian snaps, and you put your hands to your mouth. “I can’t believe that a sensible young woman like you would have your head turned… turned by…” He gestures at George, who waves at him. “Well, you have to go.”

“Eppy, lad, reconsider,” George says flatly, and Brian points at him.

“You have to look young, free and available. Girls buy records so they can dream of snogging your ruddy face off!” he snarls, and you exhale slowly. “And you, (Y/N)…” He folds his arms. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” George says, without even considering, and your stomach flips. “I love ‘er, Brian, so that’s that, right?” Brian sighs. “Lad, come on, she’s me bird, an’ John’s got Cyn, hasn’t he?… we hid it so you wouldn’t react like this. She’s been great at ‘er job, hasn’t she?”

“Mr. Epstein, please,” you add, quietly, and Brian closes his eyes, before levelling a cool glare at the two of you.

“I’ll decide what to do with you after I’ve thought about it,” he says quietly. “For God’s sake, George, if it’s serious, then you have to let me know. There’s publicity to be thought of. There’s her bloody safety.” He points at you. “You know there’ll be teenage girls from here to bloody Inverness after your blood, don’t you?”

You nod slowly, and he looks between the two of you.

“Out, and if you do _anything_ that reflects badly on this band…” You’re not sure who he’s talking to, but you walk out, nearly colliding with Ringo and the others.

“Hey, love!” Paul laughs, and then claps George on the arm. “Good lad, ‘ey, she’s a cute one.” He winks at you, and then John is in front of you.

“So what’s it like dating _the_ Georgina Harrison, love, I say, love,” he asks in a strange, Southern-sounding accent, holding a fake ‘mic’ – actually a sandwich he’s eating – to your mouth, and Paul hauls him back.

“Aren’t yeh worried?” Ringo asks George. “Like… now everyone knows?”

“‘Ey,” George says warmly, and pulls you close. “At least I can do this now.” Next thing, he’s kissing you; you melt a little as the other Beatles whoop and holler, and as Paul yells ‘grotty!’ you collapse laughing into his arms. Surely, whatever Brian decides, you’ll be happy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody asked for a part two, so here it is!

“It’s like being in _limbo_.”

You pace up and down the linoleum, and George looks up over his paper at you.

“Love, just look for another job,” he says plaintively, and you pout at him. “Oh, alright, love.” He goes back to the paper, and you sit opposite him, picking at your long-soggy cereal.

“It’d help if you were at home more,” you say peevishly, and he looks at you, thick eyebrow raised. “I get bored in the day, George.” He closes the newspaper and hands it to you, and you scoff before pushing it back at him.

“Ah, can’t please yeh.” He continues reading, and you groan. “It’ll be okay, I’m sure, love.” He pauses for a moment, before a smile spreads across his face and he folds the page back. “Look at yeh. Radiant.”

You can’t help but blush – it’s been a month but the papers have finally stopped running the arty silhouette shot of you and George kissing in the dance hall, and are instead choosing to show more recently-papped photos, such as this one – you are wearing a beret and a cape, making you look a little like a vampire, and George, wearing his usual black shirt and jeans, has his arm around you as you leave the café you were having lunch in. It’s incredibly pretty, really, and you smile a little.

“I could say the same about you,” you say coyly back, and he raises his eyebrow again.

“Radiant? I wouldn’t say _tha’_ …” he says, and you can’t help but laugh. “I’ll push Eppy on it, okay, love?” You nod, and he reaches out, stroking your hair back behind your ear. “Yer trouble, love, but yer worth it.”

* * *

“Meeting in my office, 5:30pm.”

The message is curt and delivered as you wave goodbye to George from your car – Brian steps seemingly from nowhere and puts his hand to the window, and you flush a little, not expecting to have to face him directly.

“Okay. Uh… do I have any work to do in the meantime?” you ask timidly, and Brian looks at you.

“Until I announce my decision,” he says dispassionately, “you are still under suspension, (Y/N), so no.” You sigh, and he looks at George, face softening a little. “I’m glad that you’ve kept him out of trouble.”

“Of course, Mr. Epstein.” Your voice is soft, and he exhales, leaning on the car.

“Brian. At least until 5:30.” You nod – that sounds… bad – and he lets go. “You may wait around the building – although I wouldn’t advise going into the studio.” You know the ‘No WAG’ rule, and nod, before winding your window up. It’s only 11:23am, you realise as you pull into a parking space. Oh _god_.

* * *

“Are yeh nervous?”

You look up, and Paul is stood there, holding a cup of tea – you tactfully note the tight black t-shirt and high-waisted jeans he’s wearing, hey, nobody said you couldn’t admire the view – and he raises the drink to you.

“What, about the meeting with Eppy?” you say, and notice that he looks confused for a moment before nodding wisely.

“Yeh, that. Absolutely,” he nods firmly, and you shrug.

“It is what it is,” you say, and he beams at you.

“Yeh, but it could be life-changin’,” he says, before taking a swig of his drink and falling into the chair opposite you. “Like… meetings like that can really shake stuff up, love.” Your heart sinks. You guess he’s right; after all, Brian could kill your career in PR with a few well-chosen words in various ears. “Do you know if George’ll be there?”

You shake your head gloomily. You see no reason for him to be – it’s a private meeting regarding your professional life, after all, even if it does concern him. Paul grins again, showing those adorable buckteeth, and then takes another sip.

“Ah, love. Good luck,” he winks, and your brow furrows as he stands up again and makes a beeline for the window so he can smoke and tease the girls outside at the same time. Why does he know so much anyway?

* * *

“We’re taking you for lunch, c’mon, (Y/N).”

You look up from your book into John’s eyes, which are crinkled with amusement right now, and Ringo just behind him, beaming widely. This is… odd. Where’s George?

“Come on, love, Geo’s busy, we’re feedin’ you up instead,” John adds, and extends his hand. “Yer on a date with two Beatles instead of one, like, so yer gettin’ a better deal anyway.” You take it, rolling your eyes, and stand up. “Ringo, are yeh drivin’?”

“Nah, Bri said to get security to take us, like,” Ringo says, and smiles at you. “Nervous?”

“…a little,” you say quietly, and they swap amused glances. Okay, something is absolutely up – George being too busy to at least _tell_ you he won’t be coming for lunch with you? Did they prank him? What’s happening? “Boys, what…”

“Come on, love, yer chariot awaits,” John winks, and they both take an arm each, almost hustling you out of the room.

The restaurant is just a few streets away, but it takes nearly half an hour to get there past the fans, and John puts his face to the window and mugs for them, nearly driving them into a frenzy. You look across at Ringo, who’s just waving and smiling, and feel a little sad. You wish George was here.

“Okay, love, order whatever yeh want,” John commands as you sit down. “Yer gonna need yer strength, after all.” Sex jokes? Nice, John… “It’s all on us, I mean, today is a very special day, like…!”

“…guys, it’s just a job. As long as I’m with George, I’m happy,” you say, and Ringo smiles at that. John mimes puking, and then looks over at Ringo.

“Well, I have the feelin’ yeh might be getting’ a promotion,” he says loftily, and Ringo elbows him in the stomach. You watch as they have a small, inter-personal bicker, and if questions marks started dotting the air above your head you wouldn’t be surprised. What the hell _is_ going on here?

* * *

“Hey, love.”

You turn your head and George is in the doorway – he looks so handsome in his blue shirt and jeans, and your heart skips a little beat right there.

“Yeh’ve got an hour ‘til Eppy sees yeh, right?” he says awkwardly, and you nod, smiling as he comes to sit next to you. “It’s gonna… I reckon yer gonna be surprised.” He leans in to kiss your cheek, and then smiles. “Like… have I mentioned that I really love yeh. Like… loads.”

“Gear,” you reply, almost deadpan apart from the tiny smile on your face, and he snorts with laughter. “I love you too, George, so much…” He kisses you, cradling your face gently, and you feel your stomach flip. You really, really care about what happens in that meeting – you can’t pretend you don’t. But you love George enough to make the pain worthwhile.

“I’ve just got some last minute prep for something,” he says quietly, and you nod. “But yeh… you go an’… like… whatever you need to do.” You sigh. The life of a Beatle is a 24/7 affair, you guess. “I’ll see you at 5:30.”

“What?” you say – he’ll be there? – but he’s up and through the door without an answer, and you fall back into the seat, pouting in confusion. “What is _happening_?”

* * *

“(Y/N)?”

You look up, and Brian has his head around the door. He looks unusually sombre, and you stand up, exhaling slowly as you traipse in. George doesn’t appear to be in here – maybe you misheard him…?

“Please, sit,” he says, and you do so. “I’m sorry it took all day, but…” He seems almost a little nervous – maybe that’s not the right word. But it certainly looks as if he’s rehearsed what he’s saying… which _really_ doesn’t bode well. “Listen, I am afraid that… I cannot offer you your job position back.”

You feel crushed as you hear him say it – John said you’d be getting a promotion. Was it a sick joke? You feel tears form in your eyes, and Brian reaches out to pat your hand gently.

“I’m sorry. I have been very harsh on you, and so I have written to Burson-Marsteller with a letter of the highest recommendation for you.” You look up slowly – what? He… but if you have to be fired, why is he sorry? Can’t he just keep you? You say as much, and he shakes his head, and now, there’s almost a smile on his lips.

“Please,” you beg, and he looks away.

“Due to recent developments, I _have_ to.”

“Recent developments?” you ask, and he nods. “Please, Mr. Epstein, I…” He puts his hand up.

“I have to ask that you turn around.” You do so, misery settling in your gut-

-and George is there.

“She’s all yours,” Brian says, and George grins at you – it’s more of a grimace really, and you stand up slowly as he raises his hands out to you.

“(Y/N),” George begins, and you open your mouth. “Hold up a bloody moment.” You close it again, and you hear Brian snort under his breath. “Now, we’ve been together for a while, love, an’ I… well, I love yeh.” You blush, wondering what’s happening – you become aware that behind him, Paul, John and Ringo have their heads around the door, along with John’s fiancée, Cynthia. “In fact, when Bri was tellin’ me off, he said ‘If yeh’d married her, like, I’d have fired her on the spot’.” He pauses, and tilts his head. “Less Scouse, though.”

What’s this about? He’s… an idea forms, and your eyes widen.

“…but that really put it in me head. We’ve talked about it but… I realised that… like… I love yeh. And I want yeh to be mine. Forever, like.” He sinks to one knee, and your hands fly to your face in shock as your idea is confirmed. “So… despite the fact I’m getting yeh fired… will you marry me?”

Your brain shuts down, and you just stare at him for a moment as you feel tears forming in your eyes. _Yes!_ you think, heart pounding, and then find yourself nodding, and he pats his pockets down.

“Uh…”

“You’re a bloody moron, Harrison,” you hear Brian gripe, and you turn your head to see him push a box over the desk to George, who, cheeks aflame, snatches it up and open it. The ring inside is beautiful – it’s the colour of your eyes, you think dimly, heart pounding, and then you have to sit down again suddenly.

“Oh my god, Geo, you’ve _killed_ the girl!” you hear John say, and then George is putting the ring on your fingers and you admire how it shines in the light before grabbing him and kissing him.

“Alright, alright,” Brian sighs. “Out. I’ll send that letter on Monday.” You thank him, and then as George guides you out your mind reels. Mrs. (Y/N) Harrison… oh lord… He kisses you again, and Cynthia coos over the ring.

“Never a dull moment around you two,” Paul comments dryly, and George holds you tightly too him.

“Never,” he says fondly, and your heart soars.


End file.
